


Did you ever tell Elizabeth about your childhood?

by publius_ham



Series: Interview with the Little Lion [1]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: F/M, descriptions of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 12:46:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19062988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/publius_ham/pseuds/publius_ham
Summary: She cleared her throat, a ghost of a smile on her face. “What I was trying to say - you know everything about me, my upbringing, my siblings, the trouble we got up to as children - you even know the story of when our cat ran away when I was twelve.” She ignored my smirk, again. “Yet I know nothing of you, only your name and age and rank, which is, when you think about, quite odd.”“Betsey -” I protested, feeling as though my stomach had suddenly disappeared - but she interrupted me.“No excuses anymore, Alexander.” She patted again, this time more insistent. “Sit. Tell me everything.”





	Did you ever tell Elizabeth about your childhood?

**Did you ever tell Elizabeth about your childhood?**

 

_On my wedding night, in fact._

 

 

 

 

“Tell me,” Betsey said, almost sternly, patting next to her on the bed. “We are married now, Alexander, bound in the eyes of the Lord, and the most important of our duties as husband and wife is to be _honest_ with one another.”

I couldn’t help it; I smirked. “Besides the obvious?”

Betsey blushed, and quickly tried to hide her nudity by throwing her hair forward. It didn’t hide much. “ _Behave_ , Hamilton.”

I snorted, trying not to feel too good about myself. It was hard not to, I felt giddy. Happy. Alive. “I’ll try, Bets.”

She cleared her throat, a ghost of a smile on her face. “What I was trying to say - you know everything about me, my upbringing, my siblings, the trouble we got up to as children - you even know the story of when our cat ran away when I was twelve.” She ignored my smirk, again. “Yet I know _nothing_ of you, only your name and age and rank, which is, when you think about, quite odd.”

“Betsey -” I protested, feeling as though my stomach had suddenly disappeared - but she interrupted me.

“No excuses anymore, Alexander.” She patted again, this time more insistent. “Sit. Tell me everything.”

I wanted to fight her, to find an excuse for me not telling her about my past - I could even lie, tell her that my life before the Revolution began had been quite uneventful, that I had led a happy life with my parents before both of them had died when I was young (the story most people assumed and a rumor I was happy to ignore the existence of to ensure people wouldn’t start digging for the true story) but when I looked at Elizabeth, my newly wedded wife, I found myself unable to do anything of the sort. She looked so defiant, her chin raised and her eyes alive, alive, _alive_ , and I knew that if I told her anything but the truth our marriage would be tainted black from the very start.

And if my parents’ story had told me anything, it was the fact that an unhappy marriage meant an unhappy life.

So, I plopped down on the bed next to her and sighed. “Fine. But be sure before I begin that you _want_ to know. You will look at me differently when I’m done telling my story, and you might regret marrying me today.” I shook my head, and quickly corrected myself, “No, you will surely regret it. You might regret being acquainted with me at all. So please, ask yourself if ignorance wouldn’t be better, if a happy lie wouldn’t be better. There are some things one can’t unknow. Be sure - _please._ ”

I never begged.

Her eyes were as wide as the night-sky, and just as black.

Then, after a few moments passed, she nodded. “I am sure.”

I took a deep breath. “As you wish. First things first. You know my name, my rank - but not my age. I was born on January 11… 1755.”

“But -” she blinked, confused, doing the math in her head. “You are twenty and three years old.”

My cheeks heated up, and I prayed to Providence the candlelight was too dark to let her be able to see my shame. “Twenty-five,” I admitted.

“You lied to me?”

“To everyone.”

“ _Everyone_?” She looked as though she was trying very hard to reign in her anger and it made me love her all the more. “No one knows?”

“Well, obviously, Edward knows, my childhood best friend. The Livingstons know, too, as does the board of the College of New Jersey. And, well, my brother, my father -”

“You have a _brother_?” Her shock was almost comical. “You never told me -”

“James.” I fiddled with my fingers. Should I have lied? Would all these lies upon lies be unforgivable to her? “He was two years my elder. I had one other younger brother, Charles, he died stillborn, and one sister, Rachel, who died at three weeks old of fever. My brother James and I were quite close as children, but we grew apart after my mama died.”

Elizabeth’s hand found mine, and she squeezed it, hard. “I am so sorry, Alexander. I didn’t know.”

I squeezed back. “My childhood before my tenth birthday was quite happy, I have to say. We had a little stone house in Charlestown, Nevis - it had coral green windows, and a red door. Bright red. It looked out at the sea and the surrounding Islands, and my brother and I frequently played outside on the beach. We liked to pretend we were pirates.” I tried to smile, but it felt too tight. “We did not have a formal education -”

“Why not?”

I cleared my throat. “I’ll - come back to that later. Our mama taught us English, as we had been brought up in French - this is why I speak it so fluently - and we took lessons from a Jew in Hebrew and the scriptures. I did a little math, but it was insufficient. I did most of my schooling myself by reading and writing.”

“Why were you not allowed to study?” Betsey asked again, persistent.

I ignored it this time. “When I was ten our father left us after first moving us to St. Croix - my mama had to work to pay for our living, and both James and I were expected to find jobs. I worked for a merchant, Cruger.” I couldn’t keep the disdain from my tone, even after all these years his name carried a bitter and poisonous aftertaste. “Nicholas Cruger. He hired me at ten and left me in charge of the company at 14 - much of my work then proved to be the most important part of my education; without it I would not have been able to be of as much use of the General as I am today.”

“Alexander.” Betsey said again. A warning.

“When I was about twelve, I got deadly sick. Fever, I’m afraid.” Maybe if I just kept on going it would get easier. Maybe she would just forget. “My mama got sick too, and she - well, the doctors tried everything, but there was only so much they could do. She expired when I was sleeping, and when I woke up, I was alone.”

For a moment she had forgotten her question, and her eyes softened. “Oh, no. Oh Alexander… You must’ve been so scared.”

I swallowed, unexpectedly touched by her sadness. I had never told anyone about this. I wanted to tell her everything. “I don’t know why exactly I survived, and I spend years wishing I wouldn’t have. She was the greatest woman I had ever met, Betsey, the greatest human - she did not deserve to die like that.” My voice felt thick. “My brother and I moved in with our cousin, but he died, too.”

“Oh, no.”

“Quite.” I tried to smile. “When my father moved us to another island when I was ten, I remember feeling so excited - of course I was saddened by the move, because I had to leave behind my home, my teacher, my friends, but I also viewed it as an adventure. I had the silly hope that I could even start to excel in life, be lifted from poverty and - well, be here where I am today.” Before she could say anything, I went on, “I quickly learned my lesson. Within two years our father had left us, my mama had died, our cousin had committed bloody suicide and every other family member left to us either died or ignored our existence.”

“Alexander…” she shook her head, speechless. “If you thought this would make me look at you with contempt… you are so, so wrong. This story does not make you weak, it makes you all the stronger, and I -”

“I’m not done.” This time I couldn’t keep the grimace of my face. “I moved in as a white servant to Thomas Stevens, this is where I met his son Neddie, you know of him, and he allowed me to buy more books and get into contact with people like Knox - who helped me get off the Island and get an education on the mainland, which allowed me to be in New York during the Revolution and end up, well, here, with you.”

She sat closer to me, kissed my shoulder. Squeezed my hand. “And I am eternally grateful.”

“I can give you the letter I wrote to my father about one of the hurricanes that hit my island,” I offered, leaning my head on hers. Her breathing was soft, calm, comforting. She felt warm against me. “It’s the letter that made people put together money to send me here.”

“I will keep it next to my heart, always.”

“Betsey -”

“It got you here, with me. It’s all that matters now.” She kissed my skin again, almost scorching. “Now, tell me,” she moved up to look at me, one eyebrow raised, “why were you not allowed a formal education?”

I sighed. It seemed there was no getting out of this. “My parents were not married, Elizabeth.” She froze next to me, her hand tightening. My heartbeat was so loud it was almost deafening. “My - mama was in an unhappy marriage before her relationship with my father, with a man called Lavine. He took everything from her, her money and reputation, he locked her up in prison for revenge of her unhappiness and defiance - she had to flee to get rid of him, and because she did so she was unable to file for divorce. This made it unable for her to marry my father, James Hamilton.”

Betsey was still frozen in place.

I prattled on, gaining speed in my nervousness. “I know what I am, Betsey. I know what this - I know I am a _bastard_ , and I - I have not been baptized, I...” My throat felt clogged up, like I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow. Everything felt hot. “I know this will be hard for you to hear, and I am sorry I did not tell you before. I was sure you would not love me anymore if you knew -”

She jerked as if I’d slapped her. She still did not say anything.

“- and that you and your family would not agree to marry me. I _know_. But I did what I had to do to survive. I lied about my age at King’s to be allowed entry - they weren’t going to let someone my age be accepted as a prodigy… and I wanted to be able to not just attend, but to _excel_. I lied about my parents because if I had not, I would not be where I am now. I would not work for the General, I would not have been accepted at King’s at all, and I might still be stuck on that island doing a clerk’s job for the rest of my life. I would not have met you.” I breathed in deeply. Why did my eyes sting so? “I am so sorry, Elizabeth. That I am not the man you deserve, not the man you -”

“Stop.”

I blinked. “I am merely trying to apologize for -”

“ _Stop_ ,” she repeated, louder this time, and she finally moved to look at me. Her eyes were glossy but alive, alive, alive. “You have nothing to apologize for, Alexander. You did _nothing_ wrong.”

For a second, I couldn’t breathe.

Was I hearing her correctly?

“Elizabeth -”

 “No. I will hear no more on it. Your parents’ mistake is _not_ your fault. You had to lie, I understand. I do. After all you’ve been through -” she shook her head, almost angry. “You have been so alone in this,” her hand moved up to touch my face, to wipe the tears I had not realized were falling, “but no more. I am here now, and I love you so.”

Not often could I be rendered speechless. But here, now, naked and in the arms of my new wife, I could not find a single word if my life depended on it. So, I embraced her back, sagged onto her chest and _sobbed_.


End file.
